


Let Me Go

by QuickSilverFox3



Series: Whumptober 2019 [23]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood Magic, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 08:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Zevran is bleeding out in the Deep Roads-So this was what dying felt like. Zevran would laugh, if he had the breath do to so. The cold seeped into his very bones, the stone stretching up to reclaim him as the last vestiges of Surana's magic slipped away, white sparks winking out above him like dying stars.





	Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr!](https://inkformyblood.tumblr.com) Requests are always welcome!

So this was what dying felt like. Zevran would laugh, if he had the breath do to so. The cold seeped into his very bones, the stone stretching up to reclaim him as the last vestiges of Surana's magic slipped away, white sparks winking out above him like dying stars.

He knew that he would never die old in a comfortable bed, that was never in the plan of his life. Zevran was the son of a whore in Antiva. He grew up on the streets and inside a brothel, watched by several older women and then watched by the Crow's who passed through, equal parts a test and a danger.

One Crow - tall and fair, human in the way his lip curled when he saw the elves sleeping in doorways regardless of the way his own ears twitched - had swiped at him with a dagger as Zevran liberated him of a beautifully carved bracelet. The sight of his own blood wasn't a surprise, but the same man turning up on his doorstep the next day had been.

Zevran couldn't remember his mother's face, worn away by years of trying to make the pain of separation leave him. But he could remember her touch, the scent of the leather gloves she wore, joints red and sore in the cold. He could remember the curve of the tattoo on her face, her voice rising and falling as she told him old legends from her tribe, lost in the mists of the Emerald Graves.

He raised one gloved hand to his face and breathed deeply. There, beneath the coppery smell of blood, beneath the mud and dirt almost embedded into the leather, was the soft scent of home. He'd wanted to take Surana there, to show her the wonders of Antiva, the sheer colour and beauty of it. But that wasn't to be.

She was beautiful. Surana's face broke into his field of vision, her magic crackling around her reflexively, like a goddess from an old fairy tale. A smear of blood marred the curling lines of her tattoo, weathered and faded, but still breathtakingly intricate.

Her mouth moved, but Zevran realised he couldn't hear her, the ringing in his ears, the laborious thumping of his own heart drowning out all else.

They never should have gone down into the Deep Roads. But Surana maintained her heart throughout everything, unable to stop helping others even at her own detriment. And it was only meant to be a simple task: go into an overrun Thaig and find a family heirloom and return it.

The dwarf didn't seem to know the particular danger the Deep Roads held for her, for his Warden.

The darkspawn were Calling her.

She denied it, laughed it off when he asked her some months back following a sleepless night when it was all Zevran could do to hold her, listen to her breath rattle in her chest like she was already half dead and pray to gods he never fully believed in, not anymore.

But he'd known better. They were running out of time.

She didn't ask him to travel with her to research at first, sent him letters while she ruled in Antiva. Surana had been the best thing he could have asked for after travelling to her, her shriek of surprise morphing to joy as she saw him lounging on her bed and throwing herself onto him in an embrace that washed away all his worries.

Zevran would do anything to make her happy. He would tear down the moon and the sun to give to her, but she was content with his earring and his company. She originally tried to hide the information from him, a dusty book on an equally dusty shelf, but he saw. He knew.

The taint was held in the blood. A Warden's life could be extended by regular treatments of pure blood, a practice now considered to be blood magic by the Chantry. And Zevran did it for her, so she could be happy even if she would never ask it of him.

His heart was quieter now, farther away from him. Zevran wished, maybe, idly, that he could see the sun one more time, feel the warmth on his skin. He hoped Surana would be happy in the time she had left. Where was she?

Zevran opened eyes he didn't realise he had closed and there she was, jaw set and face pale. What was she doing?

She was sitting on his hips even if he couldn't feel them now, too cold, so cold. Her mouth was moving but he couldn't understand her, thoughts slow and slipping away. In her hand was... No.

Their blood transfusion bag was in her hand, held up so it ran back into him, the needle jammed into her arm ready for when the bag ran out. No! She needed that, she had to-

Zevran tried to move, to speak but the grey flickering at the edges of his vision consumed him finally, slipping into an uneasy darkness, unsure if he could ever emerge.


End file.
